An Unexpected Guest
by rjcolo
Summary: House Stark is hosting the royal family at their home of Winterfell. But a beast plagues the ancient castle's walls, threatening the livelihoods of all. A regiment of mercenaries or knights errant can't help them. What they need is an expert, and he's about to arrive unannounced. (One shot for now but I might turn this into an ongoing story if I feel like it)


**I know I published this earlier, but I read through it again and decided to fix some things while adding some more to the story.**

* * *

It was still dark when a flock of fluttering crows cawed Daemon Hill from his slumber. _Damn birds_ , he thought, rubbing the stiffness out of his neck as he sat up from the hard dirt and roots of the tree he sheltered beneath. He couldn't wait to get to the next inn with a decent bed as he had been on the Path awhile now, mostly in the North. Deciding now was a good time as any to get going, Daemon rubbed the sleep from his yellow eyes, tousled his long dark red hair, and scratched the short beard he allowed to grow. His grizzled looked was quite uncharacteristic for him as he was always taught a true professional had a clean presentation. However, he welcomed the warmth his great amount of hair provided in the cold North.

Rummaging through his bags he opted for dried meat and hard bread for breakfast, an unpleasant yet filling meal. His body involuntarily shivered in the crisp morning air, instinctively fingering the medallion around his neck as he ate. The stoic horned lion flanked by draconic wings gave him a strange sense of both comfort and sorrow as he reminisced his days at Jaelys Keep deep within the Hills of Norvos, his brothers and the camaraderie they developed in their harsh training to become what they are today: witchers. Examining the finely crafted medallion further, Daemon couldn't help but reflect on the words of his mentor on the day he received it, "The manticore's face does not betray fear, fierceness, or excitement in the face of danger or adversity. You must do the same as a witcher, Daemon." He would not understand his mentor until he set out unto a world that saw him as less of man and more of a necessary evil to be tolerated at best. Another bitter breeze shook thoughts of the past out of his head, prompting him to finish the last scrap of bread.

After his bland breakfast, the witcher dressed himself in his standard travel wear. First, a sturdy yet stylish leather waistcoat secured under his back scabbards and a belt with pouches crisscrossing his chest, both carrying tools of the trade. The gloves with studded knuckles came next, worn over studded bracers for added protection against a monster's fangs. He pulled his steel-toed boots over his padded trousers, then fastened a poleyn* on each knee. He secured the saddle and bags on his grey speckled horse, Claire, before watching at the first rays of dawn burn the night away.

(*a plated metal knee pad worn during the Medieval and Renaissance periods)

He had already made good progress when half the sun peeked over the horizon. Despite its presence, the northern air still chilled him under his woolen cloak. His destination was Winterfell, the ancient seat of House Stark, the once great kings of these cold, hilly lands. The witcher was originally making quick progress back south until he crossed paths with a traveling merchant of mirrors. The mysterious vagrant told him of a monster terrorizing the people of the castle and surrounding village. Daemon felt the Warden of the North could make the detour worthwhile. He pondered what he would find as Claire trotted along the road. He had encountered many great beasts in the North, as a witcher does when hunting in these parts. The wide expanse of land meant less human contact, which meant larger, more dangerous monsters were likely to be found.

Around midmorning he spotted the ancient stronghold in the distance, its round towers standing tall in wait for the next long winter. With Winterfell in sight, Daemon kicked Claire to a canter, eager to get this rumored contract from Lord Stark. He hoped to arrive early enough to investigate and have the monster slain by sundown, if it wasn't nocturnal. He slowed once again as he approached the surrounding village, known simply as the winter town.

The arrival of a newcomer brought attention to him, but people quickly looked the other way when they saw his yellow cat eyes shining under his hood. Weaving his horse through the crowd, Daemon scanned for anything that could help him in his quest. It was much more lively than other places he'd been in the North; he noticed not only common villagers but Stark soldiers with the house's direwolf sigil and soldiers in red dyed armor as well. All packed the paths and alleys of the small village. Daemon wondered if this place was not used to this many people at once. He then remembered the merchant telling him that the king himself was visiting the Lord of Winterfell. For what reason, he was not entirely sure.

After a tedious search through the bustling village, the witcher spied a notice board and dismounted his steed to read its contents: an advertisement from a freelance worker, a desperate plea for help with a sick child, and a farmer looking to trade one of his piglets for tools, but nothing about monsters. Daemon sighed, knowing he had no other choice but to ask around as he mounted his horse again and made way for Winterfell itself. As he approached the castle's outer gate, a guard eyed him suspiciously while moving to stop him.

"You have business in Winterfell?" he asked Daemon.

"Got word on a monster prowling about," he answered in his deep, monotone voice. The guard's expression did not change as he examined Daemon's two swords and cat eyes. After a minute of blank staring, he made a signal to let the witcher through.

The yard was alive with activity as soldiers trained to keep the rust off their skills and swords and servants moved to and fro carrying out their duties, making the crowded keep seem just as alive as the village. Daemon was led to the stables, where he left Claire in the hands of a rather large stable hand, who greeted him with a strange word: "Hodor." Daemon was thrown off guard by this phrase but nodded in return, thinking it was an old Northern greeting he never heard before. The witcher marched through the yard as he looked for someone of importance.

"What do we have here?" he heard from a snide, pompous voice behind him. Turning around, Daemon watched a golden-haired boy approach, wearing the finest outfit he had ever seen a child wear underneath an equally distinguished black mink cloak. He was followed by a large man in dark armor, his thin, dark hair grown long and brushed in a poor attempt to hide the ghastly burn marks covering the right side of his face. The duo's contrast seemed slightly comical to Daemon, and he would have chuckled if he did not know who they were. Indeed, the witcher surmised that this was the crown prince Joffrey Baratheon and his bodyguard, Sandor Clegane, infamously known as the Hound.

"Can I help you?" Daemon impatiently asked the boy.

"What purpose would a man have to carry two swords?" the prince asked in a curious yet demanding tone.

"I'm a witcher," Daemon replied in a matter-of-fact way, "the steel sword is for humans and the silver one's for monsters." Prince Joffrey's eyes lit up at the mention of Daemon's profession and slowly circled him to further study his weapons.

"A witcher," the boy repeated, "I've heard of your kind. Stray and unwanted boys mutated into heartless freaks to fight monsters. Never seen one in my life until now."

"Takes a monster to kill a monster, your highness," Clegane remarked, smirking when he earned a glare from Daemon. The prince chuckled at the exchange.

"You are quite right, Hound," Joffrey replied. "Although I don't see why you'd come here. It's awfully boring in the north." The boy paused for a moment before a gleeful grin grew across his face. "I know what would be fun! You dueling the Hound," he stated, "I want to see, first hand, how a witcher fights. As your prince, I command it." The Hound's face faltered, not fond of the prince's idea of entertainment.

"Would love to face off against the infamous Hound, but I'm here on business," Daemon retorted, curtly bowing and heading off before the prince could say more. He scanned the yard hoping he could at least spot the lord's maester or the captain of the guard. He soon found an old man in simple clothes shouting teachings and advice to at a practice ring.

Daemon casually approached to spectate the match. It was between two young men roughly the same age – one a stocky, auburn haired lad, the other a lean, long-faced boy with dark brown locks. Both were well matched and well trained from what Daemon could see. However, the brown haired one was distracted when he spotted the witcher. His opponent took advantage, charging with a series of quick strikes. The lean boy did all he could just to defend himself but lost his footing, falling on his backside. The red head pointed his sword at his downed opponent's neck in victory.

"What happened, Jon?" the old man asked.

"I was distracted," Jon retorted, staring hard at Daemon. All followed his gaze, but the witcher merely shrugged.

"Think a real opponent will care if you're distracted?" he asked the frustrated lad.

"Well, no but…" the boy stammered.

"But, what?" the witcher cut him off, testing Jon's patience. "These lessons and practices aren't just to teach you how to fight with a sword. They're to teach you how to protect yourself. There are no excuses in life or death scenarios." The boy looked down in shame, humbled by the witcher's words of wisdom.

"Well that's enough for now boys," the old man said, "Take a short break then practice your guards, with concentration. Gods know you could use it." With the command, the boys hung their practice swords and headed to the nearest water trough for much needed refreshment.

"You've been teaching them well," Daemon complimented the old man. He was a stout, broad fellow, experience evident within him as he stood comfortable yet alert with a sword at his hip.

"Not well enough it seems," he said. "I just hope they'll never have to actually use what they've learned." He watched the boys fondly as he stroked his white whiskers before returning his focus to Daemon. "But I believe a man such as yourself is not here to teach Lord Stark's boys the art of monster slaying?"

"Indeed," Daemon confirmed, "I'm guessing you're the captain of the guard?"

"Master-at-arms," he corrected. "Ser Rodrik Cassel of House Cassel. I take it you've heard about a certain beast we are dealing with?" Daemon nodded at Ser Rodrik's assessment. "And what shall I call you, master witcher?"

"Daemon Hill of the Manticore School," the witcher stated.

"Never had one from that school before," Ser Rodrik commented. "We usually see witchers from the Wolf School or Bear School." With that, the old knight escorted Daemon across the yard toward a tower.

"Quite the place," Daemon observed to fill the silence.

"Never been to Winterfell before?" Ser Rodrick asked inquisitively.

"Nope," Daemon bluntly replied, "Don't spend too much time in the North." They continued silently as they entered a turret on the edge of the tower. Climbing its stairs, Daemon could hear a heated conversation with his sharp ears and soon found himself in an expansive study with books lying about, a desk full of papers and quills and inkwells, and even some alchemy instruments with ingredients. He quickly surmised that this must be the maester's tower – a cluttered one at that. The knight led him further upstairs where the conversation came to a stop as their approach was heard. Daemon found two men in fine waistcoats and shirts with an old maester standing further back.

He immediately recognized King Robert Baratheon, for he once saw the man at a tournament in King's Landing celebrating the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion. He had become a bloated shell of his former self, but he still had the raven black hair and stormy blue eyes of his house. This meant the other man was Lord Eddard Stark. He seemed to be in decent shape yet there were already grey hairs in the Warden of the North's beard, unlike his long brown hair. Daemon also noticed his grey eyes change in shade when they entered.

"Your majesty, my lord," Ser Rodrick addressed them as he bowed. "This here is Daemon Hill, a witcher of the Manticore School. He wishes to offer his services for the monster that currently plagues the castle." Daemon gave a short bow to King Robert and Lord Stark at his introduction.

"Thank you, Ser Rodrick," Lord Stark said. With those words, the old knight bowed to his king and lord again then descended the stairs.

"Seems fortune smiles upon us, Ned," the king commented as he examined the Daemon. "Come, witcher. We best get this beast slaughtered before panic spreads through Winterfell."

"Alright," Daemon replied, "what are we dealing with here?"

"We are hoping you could answer that," Lord Stark replied with an air of respect in his voice. The northerners still held witchers in high regard in these harsh and wild lands. They also did not conflict with the Old Gods, unlike the Faith of the Seven in the southern regions of Westeros. It seemed Lord Stark had more respect for monster slayers than most. He led Daemon to a nearby table where the maester stood. If he could think of one word describe the scholar, it'd be grey: grey eyes, thinning grey hair, even his skin had a grey tinge to it, not to mention the signature grey robes of his order. His ringed chain was small, fitted snuggly around his neck as a choker.

"Maester Luwin can fill you in on the details of the corpse's state," Lord Stark said whilst the witcher examined the shriveled remains closely, but he already had an idea of what attacked this man.

"Of course, my lord," the old maester spoke once prompted. "This was the smith's apprentice. A young lad with great potential, according to him. As you can see, the body is dried up as if stranded in the deserts of Dorne for ages, yet he was found earlier this morn like this. I first attributed it to a strange magical phenomenon, but further research suggests – "

"A vampire," Daemon finished for the maester, surprising everyone just how fast he was able to come to that conclusion.

"An unholy leech? How can you be so sure?" the king asked for confirmation. Daemon titled the head sideways to reveal the incriminating bites marks on the victim's neck. "Tis true then," the king muttered, "Damn it, Ned! Why didn't you take care of this sooner?!"

"Hold on, let's not throw around accusations until we get all the details," Daemon quickly interjected, "Lord Stark, has anyone else gone missing or been found like this before the king's arrival?" The lord thought about the question for a minute, staring deeply at the body.

"None, now that you mention it," he replied.

"Now you saying I brought this monster here?" the king asked, his temper growing short at the perceived accusation.

"You didn't 'bring' it here," Daemon clarified. "This one could have been amongst your royal procession to Winterfell, your grace."

"How would a bloody vampire be able hide amongst us without anyone noticing?" he asked.

"Vampires are cunning," the witcher replied. "Most species can turn invisible to the naked eye. The basest are very strong and at least have predator like instincts. But it's the higher vampires you have to worry about the most. They have human level intelligence and can easily blend in with society. It'd be very hard to spot one with an untrained eye."

"So, one of my guards or servants is a monster?" King Robert asked, becoming fearful at the thought of such a creature right under his nose.

"No. Plenty of hedge knights, entertainers, and whores attach themselves to these processions all the time to find work," the witcher assured him, "The vampire must have saw yours and took the opportunity to follow you. Wherever the king goes is surely someplace of note, and Winterfell is a near perfect nesting place for a short time."

"How so?" the portly king asked skeptically. "No offense, Ned, but Winterfell isn't exactly a beacon of civilization."

"This is one of the most populous areas in the North, so the vampire has a steady supply to feed on for months at the very least," Daemon began explaining, "People can go missing around these parts all the time. Most chalk it up to wolves, bears, or some other wild beast. During the winters, men leave to hunt and never return. Even if the cause is a monster, none dare face it. They'd rather hire one of us– "pointing at himself– "Such is the way of life here."

"So, us finding the body means it was careless?" Lord Stark surmised from Daemon's explanation.

"Indeed, my lord. Do you know if anyone witnessed this attack?"

"None have come forth," he answered seriously.

"And have there been any other victims or people gone missing recently?"

"Just one other," Maester Luwin chimed in, "a farmer claims his eldest son has been missing since the king's arrival. The boy hasn't even seen twenty name days. I would not be surprised if the vampire killed him as well."

"So, it's not only careless, but gluttonous," the witcher noted.

"Or it just likes to scare humans," the king somberly quipped. "But how will we draw it out? We shouldn't wait for another attack to occur."

Before Daemon could explain, he heard someone clamoring up the stairs in a hurry. The others were puzzled at his sudden pause until they heard the noise as well. It was a simple servant boy haggard and covered in sweat.

"Milord…your majesty," he got out between breaths, "another dead body's been found."

"Does it look like this?" Lord Stark asked the boy, pointing at the corpse on the table. The wheezing child shook his head.

"Nay, milord," he replied, "but the captain of the guard told me to call for you and the king and the witcher." They all shared knowing glances at each other. Daemon felt like some higher being sat in on their meeting and sent the boy to them.

"Well don't just stand there," the king barked, "take us to it." The boy nodded and plodded down the stairs with king, lord, and witcher in tow. They were led past the yard into an older part of the keep, approaching what looked to be a broken tower left in a state of disrepair. A couple of guards wearing the Stark sigil stood as its base while a small crowd had gathered around. The folk immediately parted at the sight of the king, bowing their heads to him.

"How was the body found?" Lord Stark asked his men.

"One of the direwolves caught its scent, my lord," one of them replied.

"Direwolves?" the witcher asked incredulously.

"My children recently adopted a litter found in the forest," the warden quickly explained.

"Return to your duties," King Robert ordered the gathered servants, "there is nothing more to see here." With that the crowd dispersed while still trying to catch a glimpse of the the witcher. The trio entered the tower to find a mostly intact body in what appeared to be the red dyed armor Daemon saw that morning. He examined the poor man closely, finding the chest plate to be dented and raked with claw marks. The helm also appeared to be caved-in. When Daemon pried it off the man's head, his brains gushed out of the hole where the dent was. The king and lord gagged at the sudden stench while the witcher closely examined the soldier. Other than the large hole in his head, he seemed intact. No scars or claw marks, his hair and scruff grizzled with years of service. Looking around, he also noticed a sword marked with dried blood nearby.

"Seems the man didn't give in to the monster easily," he thought aloud to himself.

"Well," King Robert spoke up, "anything of note?"

"Obviously it was the vampire again," Daemon stated. "One of your men this time, your majesty. He defended himself, as evidenced by the sword, but was thrown against the wall with great force. The blow caved his helm into his skull. But she didn't take any of his blood though. "

"She?" Lord Stark asked.

"Yes," Daemon answered, "the known victim was young man, two if you count the farm boy. The other body showed no signs of struggle and it would be no surprise if the same were true for the first. These are classic telltale signs of a bruxa or an alp." The witcher paused for any questions either might have but continued when they stared at him with morbid curiosity. "Their tactics are simple: lure young, unsuspecting men to a secluded area, then go for the kill. The soldier probably caught her feasting on the apprentice and she lured him here to swiftly kill him. Since she did nothing with the body, she assumed none would find it until after she left."

"So, a vampiress that seduces men, then sucks their blood?" the king summarized. "And there's more than one kind?"

"We must deal with this as soon as possible," Lord Stark added. Daemon nodded in agreement.

"Seems like I almost have enough information," Daemon said to himself, "the last question I have is if this is an alp, or a bruxa?"

"That's important?" the king asked, still bewildered that there are more than one type of these creatures.

"Mhm," the witcher hummed, "that will determine how this fight will go. Bruxa are a rarer but stronger breed. It's most likely an alp but we can't rule out all our options."

"How would we know?" Lord Stark asked.

"Details you don't need to concern yourself with," Daemon replied, "Seems that no one witnessed this attack either, unfortunately. I'll patrol the grounds tonight. Might be able to draw her out that way. Let everybody know that no one, and I mean no one, is permitted to walk outside tonight. If they absolutely must, they need to be accompanied by a guard and have a torch in hand."

"Very well," Lord Stark replied, taking the witcher's word to heart, "I'll see to it."

"Before you go my lord," Daemon spoke before the he left, "we need to discuss my pay."

"I'll see to it that you be paid handsomely, witcher," King Robert assured the monster slayer. "Gods know what a monster like that could do to me."

"Just stay indoors and keep it in your trousers tonight, your majesty," Daemon advised the lecherous king. He gave a short, loud laugh at the quip, seemingly proud of his lewd habits.

Once Daemon retrieved the necessary supplies from his saddle, Lord Stark had a servant lead him to his quarters. It was a modest room with enough space for a bed, a small table with two chairs, and a storage chest; more than any roadside inn could provide at least. There was a window facing the yard, giving just enough light during the day. When he was left alone, the witcher quickly went to work brewing the vital potions and oils for his battle. He only needed two brews, but they would be important in facing off against a higher vampire like this one. Once the potions were prepared, he mixed together some ingredients for an oil specifically for vampires. He then withdrew his silver blade from its scabbard, watching it beautiful blade glimmer in the darkness of his room. The witcher traced the etched runes down to the v shaped crossguard as he admired its beauty. The hilt was deep red mahogany rather than black cord or leather. The pommel was a block with a depiction of a lion's snarling head. Daemon would never not be amazed by this gorgeous weapon of his, a gift from old smith fried he saved in the Free Cities. Breaking out of his reverie for the sword, he applied the vampire oil on its blade. As all witchers know, the silver coating of the blade cuts through monsters considerably better than steel, but the oil causes immense pain when it enters the bloodstream. With everything prepared, Daemon decided to inspect Winterfell and the town some more to see if he could find any evidence of the vampire lurking about, or possibly even draw her out.

He strode through the grounds slowly and methodically, studying every woman he came across intently. Some were frightened when they noticed his intense stares while others seemed flattered by the attention the handsome witcher gave them, but he found no hint of vampirism. With no results on his investigation, Daemon asked a servant where he could get a bite to eat. He was led to the kitchen, where he filled his plate with some freshly cooked meats, warm bread, and soft cheese before grabbing a mug of ale to wash it down. It was the best meal he had in weeks, greedily scarfing it whilst hastily guzzling the beer.

With his belly full, the witcher resumed patrolling the castle grounds to find evidence, but soon felt he was being followed. He stopped and heard his pursuer stop as well. With a small smirk he quickly turned around to catch a young girl hiding behind some barrels.

"You can't hide from me you know," he stated, "come on out. You're not in trouble." With the reassurance, the girl emerged from her hiding spot cautiously approaching the witcher. Her face was long, her hair a familiar dark brown and she wore a thick, light blue dress of linen over a blouse to protect her from the cool air of the North. "Guessing you must be one of Lord Stark's children?" Daemon asked. The girl was astounded by Daemon's quick deduction.

"How can you tell?" she asked.

"Well for one, you're more well-dressed than the other girls I've seen around here," Daemon started, "plus, you have your father's hair and eyes. Not hard to put two and two together."

"True," the young Stark girl replied, "everyone says I look like my aunt Lyanna. Act like her too."

"Oh, sorry." He apologized, knowing full well the recent history of the Starks and Robert's Rebellion. "Didn't mean to bring that up."

"No need to apologize," she assured him, "I never actually met her."

"So," Daemon began to change the subject, "got a name?"

"Arya," the girl happily replied. "What's yours?"

"Daemon," the witcher answered, "Care to tell me why you were following me?" She looked embarrassed at the question.

"It's just that I've never seen a witcher before and wondered what you were doing," she meekly replied. "Is there some kind of monster here?" Daemon decided not to mince words with the girl.

"Indeed, there is," he answered.

"What kind?" the girl asked, hoping to learn more.

"A vampire," Daemon darkly answered, squatting down to Arya's level. "A pretty frightening one too. I'm looking to see if I can find it or at least where it's hiding." The mention of the beast seemed to enthrall Arya even more.

"That sounds exciting!" she proclaimed.

"Not as much as you think," Daemon cautioned, "Would you like to help me though?" The question made the girl's eyes brighten even more as a big grin grew on her face. It was more than enough of an answer for the witcher who couldn't help but smile back at the girl's enthusiasm.

"Yes," she eagerly replied.

"Good. Think you could introduce me to the blacksmith?"

"Yes," she answered with a confused tone, "but why do you want to talk to him?"

"Was told his apprentice was a victim," Daemon explained, "if I can learn what he was doing and who he was with before he passed, it might lead me to some answers."

"Oh," Arya replied in realization. "This way then."

"Lead the way, Lady Arya." The girl sneered at the title whilst she escorted the witcher. They headed toward the south end of the yard. Daemon saw the smithy nestled between the stables and a gate, an old man with a prominent goatee working diligently at its forge.

"Hello, Mikken," Arya greeted the old smith.

"Lady Arya," he chided, "you know you're not supposed to be near my forge. It's dangerous and your mother says it's unladylike."

"I'm just helping Daemon," Arya retorted. The blacksmith chuckled at her words before studying the witcher.

"I assume you're here about my apprentice?"

"If you don't mind," the witcher asked with compassion. He always approached these kinds of conversations carefully for those who lost loved ones to a beast. The old smith sighed before leaning upon an anvil.

"None at all," Mikken replied. "Ask away."

"Did your apprentice act strangely at all within the past few days? Specifically, when the king arrived?"

"Nay," the smith answered, "the boy seemed the same as ever. Bright and eager, if easily frustrated. He was elated at the chance to even get a glimpse of our great king. But it seems wherever that fat bastard goes, death follows." Daemon and Arya awkwardly glanced at each other with that last statement.

"Did he mention meeting anyone?" Daemon pressed, "Perhaps a maiden or woman?"

"He did mention a new servant girl he spotted yesterday morn," the blacksmith said, furrowing his brow in thought. "Now that you mention it, he said something about meeting that girl by the sept. I told him not to defile any holy places, but you know how lads and lasses can be. I thought it was nothing more than a shared night between two youngins in love." He paused as a look of horror crossed his face. "Gods," he muttered, "could it be that wench was the one who killed him?"

"Might be," Daeron replied. "Did he describe her at all?"

"Nay," Mikken said. "Just said she was the prettiest lass he ever did see."

"Was he found at the sept?" Daemon pressed further.

"Nay. Twere in the lichyard in front of the crypt. Found by a patrolling guard. Was just left right there for all to see."

"Or left behind when she was caught," Daemon theorized. "I think the pieces are starting to come together."

"How so?" Arya asked, who was silent throughout most of the exchange.

"Well the body found in the tower was left mostly intact, unlike the apprentice. This means she was taking the boy's body to her lair to continue feasting but was caught by the king's man. He pursued her into the broken tower, where she killed him in an ambush."

"Why would she take him to the lichyard, though?" Arya asked further. "Terrible place to suck someone's blood, if you ask me."

"Because the lichyard isn't her lair," Daemon concluded. "Is there a crypt or tomb around here?"

"There's the Winterfell crypt where all the dead Starks are buried," Arya replied, "you think the monster's hiding in there?"

"Possibly," Daemon answered.

"Then we shall search for the monster there!" she bravely proclaimed.

"Be careful Lady Arya," Mikken advised the girl. "And witcher," he said to Daemon, "make the bitch suffer." The witcher and girl left for the crypt after the blacksmith's solemn request.

They ended up in the same area the old tower was, but Daemon actually noticed the lichyard without all the people milling about this time around. As they came upon the entrance, the witcher couldn't help but notice the gathering of different birds, mainly crows and ravens, perched atop tombstones and railings and rooftops throughout, all looking at him and the girl. _Birds…everywhere_ , he thought to himself, _it's a bruxa then. Well, shit._ It was going to be a tough fight for sure. Arya also picked up on the unnatural flock of birds. Her eyes warily darted at all of them as she gripped the witcher's hand for comfort. When Daemon moved closer to the crypt, his manticore medallion began fiercely shaking.

"What's wrong with your necklace?" Arya asked, mainly to distract herself from the unsettling amount of birds.

"A witcher's medallion hums when in the presence of magic in all its forms," Daemon explained. "Spells, charms, curses, you name it. But it will also react to monsters born of magic or magic experimentation."

"Like a vampire?" the girl asked, now growing a little fearful.

"Mmhm," the witcher replied, "but it wouldn't be shaking so much that you'd notice. No, something primeval is hidden in this crypt."

"O…or maybe it's ghosts," Arya guessed. "But I never found the place scary. Even when my bastard brother, Jon, tried to scare me and my siblings one time by pretending to be one. We play in there all the time and have never seen any. But I feel afraid now."

"Hmm," the witcher hummed, "think it might be the birds. But there's something else here. Something powerful." The witcher continued staring at the crypt's ironwood door, curious to discover what secrets lay hidden within. But his trance was broken when he heard someone scolding Arya, causing the birds to scatter. Daemon turned to see a beautiful, auburn-haired woman quickly approaching them.

"Lady Stark, I presume?" he asked politely before bowing.

"Yes," she replied, struck by Daemon's cat eyes, "I apologize if my daughter was troubling you."

"Not at all," Daemon replied before Arya could retort, "in fact, she's helping me investigate. Seems we might have found the monster's lair." He gestured towards the crypt, Lady Stark's blue eyes following.

"Is it unsafe here then?" she asked, worry upon her face.

"Not while I'm around," Daemon proclaimed. "And not in the light of day either. Nighttime is a different story though. I've already asked Lord Stark to tell everyone to avoid walking outside tonight." The witcher's professional guidance seemed to calm Lady Stark somewhat.

"Good," she replied pulling Arya close to her, "I will be sure to remind my children before nightfall. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, thank you," Daemon answered, "just keep your children indoors and safe." He then looked to Arya. "Thank you for the help, Arya."

"Your welcome, Daemon," the girl happily replied. "Make sure you kill that monster good!" With that blessing, Lady Stark and Arya left Daemon to himself. He looked back at the crypt and decided to venture in to find the monster, but also discover what exactly is so magically potent in there. Coming to the ironwood doors, he slowly pushed them open with a loud groan. That's a bit ominous, he thought, drawing his silver sword before descending into the crypt.

Daemon could feel the air grow colder and mustier with each step downwards. The end of the stairwell led to a cavernous hallway flanked by unique statues of the Kings of Winter and Wardens of the North along its walls with vigilant direwolves curled at their feet. He could feel the age of this place as he slowly paced down the expansive corridor, his medallion wildly shaking at the magical aura within. Looking at the statues he noticed rusted iron swords - at least evidence of their presence as some had disintegrated into dust - upon their laps. Old method to contain vengeful spirits, the witcher noted in his head. However, he stopped when he found a statue quite different from the others: a beautiful young lady with a wreath of roses upon her brow rather than a crown or headband.

"Must be Lyanna." Daemon said to himself, brushing the stone face with a gloved hand. "Don't understand why Rhaegar would start a war over her though." He suddenly heard an unintelligible whisper, immediately putting him on edge. He scanned the hall but couldn't see anything. Then a powerful force pushed him from behind. Daemon gave chase to whatever knocked him over, flying down the crypt's hall as fast he could. All the while a hushed giggle could be heard, mocking him every so often. He was soon at the stairs, climbing every other step to gain some ground. He watched the ironwood doors slam shut, so he put his shoulder forward and barreled through. He fell to the ground when he burst out the doors, quickly hopping to his feet to find his target. Taking deep, controlled breaths he saw nothing but birds perched everywhere they could looking directly at him. Most were black crows and ravens like before, but some were innocent little songbirds curiously staring or menacing raptors hungrily eyeing him. The witcher's blood chilled, but he couldn't let the distrubing scene distract him. As he took one small step forward it sent all the birds flying off like he broke some kind of spell. The last thing he could hear was a woman's soft laugh.

Near sunset, Daemon heard a knock at his door. The witcher woke from his meditation and approached to see who called for him. He found a strikingly beautiful servant girl with pale skin, long dark hair, and warm brown eyes holding a dinner tray.

"Dinner for the master witcher?" she asked in a rehearsed manner.

"Sure," Daemon dreamily replied, taking a seat at his table as the servant set his tray. He keenly watched her slender figure as she left the room, only to return with a flagon and cup. Her hair was worn loose and seemed to wave enticingly at him with every step.

"Wine as well?" she offered. Daemon nodded, watching the girl fill the cup for him. She leaned rather close to the witcher, making the smell of her intoxicating perfume even more present for him...but Daemon could also feel his medallion vibrate. Before leaving, the servant moved even closer to his ear and whispered quite seductively, "I'll be waiting in the godswood when you're ready." With that she stood slowly, smiling the loveliest smile at Daemon before sashaying out the door. If she were an actual woman, Daemon would've taken her right then and there. But he knew who she was, what she was. She knew what he was and what he was here for. She was either older than most vampires or built up courage from her previous hunts. Either way, she was confident enough in her abilities to so brazenly reveal herself and arrange a meeting after their encounter in the crypt. This indeed would be a night to remember.

Daemon was escorted to the godswood after he told Lord Stark the news of the vampire. It was well into the night as he stood just outside the main gate to the family's grove, flanked by two Stark soldiers. With the showdown about to begin, he ingested the two potions he mixed earlier. First, a bright green one that was cold with a metallic taste. It gave him a sense of intense calm, putting the witcher in a focused state of battle. The other potion was a black, viscous brew. He grimaced as the liquid burned his tongue, throat and everywhere else, quickly coursing through his body. After regaining his composure, Daemon turned to the soldiers behind him.

"Whatever you hear in there–" he paused for emphasis– "don't go in." With that final warning, the witcher marched through the iron gate of the hallowed forest. It was a sprawling wood of packed earth with various trees growing close together, creating a dense canopy overhead. It looked like a shadowy, wooden maze even though he could see well enough in the darkness. The silence was almost deafening, but superhuman senses helped Daemon hear a sweet voice singing a soft, yet melancholy tune,

"Wolves asleep amidst the trees,

Bats all a swaying in the breeze,"

Following the song, he found the same servant girl standing before a pool of black water at the base of a great weirwood tree. Its carved face stared blankly at her, unperturbed by her enchanting voice.

"But one soul lies anxious wide awake,

Fearing all manner of ghouls, hags, and wraiths,"

"Nice tune," Daemon praised, interrupting the bruxa. "Haven't heard it in a while. You certainly have a flair for the dramatic." The vampire turned around with that same smile from before.

"I figured it would be the perfect introduction to this perfect stage for our dance," she cutely replied. "An old tune. An old wood. And the never-ending struggle between man and monster. Quite poetic, is it not?"

"Sure is," Daemon agreed. "But you're not here for nostalgia's sake."

"Nay," she replied, "But I am curious to why you'd fight me. From what I remember–" her soft voice changing into a low and demonic hiss– "no amount of coin could convince a witcher to accept this contract."

"Times change," Daemon simply replied. With that, the bruxa vanished, her empty dress falling to the forest floor. Now Daemon was on high alert, slowly moving through the godswood as he drew his silver blade, a fiery glow emanating from its runes under the forest's natural roof. He plucked a glass orb filled with silver dust and other properties from a pouch, ready to use it to reveal the bruxa.

At the sound of rustled leaves, Daemon threw the orb at a nearby branch. He hit his target, watching the the silvery bits cling to the vampire's monstrous outline. The beast roared before lunging at him with razor-sharp claws. Daemon quickly guarded the blow and then another one before the bruxa revealed her true vampiric form to his face, growling at his well-timed parries. She was moving lighting fast, almost too fast for the enhanced witcher to keep up. She quickly disappeared again before lunging for another flurry of attacks. Daemon was ready this time as he sidestepped her first blow and landed a solid cut on her midsection. The bruxa screamed, kneeling over in pain as the silver and oil already began working in unison. Taking his opportunity, Daemon raised his sword to strike down the monster. However, she was quicker turning to release a loud, powerful screech that sent the witcher flying into the dark pool of water. Before Daemon could even think he felt a strong, clawed hand yank him out and throw him against the weirwood, knocking the wind out of him. He opened his eyes to see the horrid face of the bruxa baring her teeth in a malicious grin. She then sank her fangs into the witcher's neck and he groaned in pain as they pierced him. Somehow, he had the strength to push the vampire off and began crawling to his sword. The bruxa watched the witcher struggle with sadistic amusement, like a cat playing with a mouse. But suddenly, her expression changed as she felt something was very wrong. Looking down, she noticed her veins running black. This realization gave Daemon enough time to stand and cast an aard sign, sending the bruxa flying into a tree with a wave of telepathic energy. She slowly rose, growing weaker by the second and tried strike at the approaching witcher. Daemon easily sidestepped the attempt and cleanly sliced her arm off. The bruxa fell to the dirt, squealing in even greater agony. With the vampire weakened and lying on the forest floor, Daemon placed a boot on her remaining arm, ready to plunge his sword into his prey.

"Do it," the bruxa feebly growled at him.

With that final statement, Daemon thrust his sword into the bruxa's heart holding it in place as he watched the monster's life fade away. When he was sure she was dead he toppled forward, exhausted from the effort and lost blood. Unable to move, Daemon quickly fell into darkness.

* * *

 **I'm (sort of) back, baby! I've wanted to do something like this ever since I finished playing the Witcher 3. I always thought the dark, cynical tone of both series would fit well together.**

 **So, what do y'all think? It's my take on the "Night to Remember" trailer of the Witcher 3. I hope I captured the same feeling while making it a little more unique this time around.**

 **Sorry for publishing and then editing it too. I'm always finding something new to change, whether it's proper grammar/syntax, or just something to make it sound better as I read it.**

 **I am considering making this the first chapter of an AU of the ASOIAF series through the lens of a witcher who happened to be at the right (or wrong) place at the right (or wrong) time. If I do, I'll probably republish this for a third time under a different title, with a prologue to establish the setting and world state. It just depends on when I have the time/inspiration to do it. I've been reading up on witcher lore and will probably pick up the ASOIAF series again as a refresher and reference if I explore this further.**

 **That, or I'll flesh out Daemon's adventures more through a series of short stories. I already have an idea that I'm gonna publish as a one-off and might do even more if I don't focus my efforts on this piece.**

 **Regardless of what I do,** **I'd love to find a beta reader/editor to help me pick out any errors or awkwardness in my writing, and any inconsistencies/plotholes in the lore of this dark fantasy mash up I'm attempting. Send me a PM if you or someone you know would be willing to do this.**

 **As always, feel free to give me a review and if you want to see more, favorite and follow the story and/or me.**


End file.
